Conversations With Dead People
by Calamity in Motion
Summary: Tate loves Violet, but Cynthia has loved him since 1999. Sometimes she wishes she could just kill the girl, but she could never do that to him. For now she'll take pleasure in the fun they DO have, in the blood and the games. What else can a dead girl do?
1. The Body

"**Conversations with Dead People"**

**Warning: The following contains violent content and twisted relationships. Viewer discretion is advised. (teehee…couldn't help myself) Also contains Spoilers from the latest episode "Smoldering Children" read at you're own risk. It's rated M for a reason people.**

**For those of you who have read my other stuff, you already know that I favor the crazy in people. How could I not have fallen in crushy-lust with this Black-eyed pretty boy psychopath? I mean really? He's the shit. Tate makes the show worth watching and his character is the most interesting of the lot.**

**I wanted to play with the idea of a crazy ghost-girl his age trapped in the house. They've done a little fooling around (it gets boring and lonely in the same house for eternity) and now that Tate has fallen for Violet the girl is left out in the cold. Not that he won't use her affection for him against her when he needs to, or to placate her, because she is just as crazy as him.**

**I'm not sure whether this will become a full length story yet, but I do have a few ideas for little bits I want to have happen. I imagine as the show progresses and more things are revealed, I will have a bit of inspiration. For now a group of one shots following the same storyline will do.**

**I've tried to stick to the actual timeline as much as possible, but I liked the idea of a millennium murder. I've checked the **_**You're Going to Die in There**_** site affiliated with the show and the closest resident lived at murder house in 2000. For the sake of this story we'll say she didn't move in until late 2000.**

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

He was in the crawlspace again, gazing down at the rotting corpse as if it might rise and wrap its stiff inflexible arms around his neck and pull him close. As if Violet Harmon wasn't as _dead_ as all the rest of us. I slipped down into the pit in the floor and moved to stand beside him, kneeling down.

"What do you want?" Tate asked shortly. His temper had been flaring these last couple days as he'd been gearing up to _"save"_ Violet. He had a crazy idea that should she think she'd killed herself in a lover's suicide, the pain of death would lessen. This had made him a little moody. I didn't take it to heart; I knew he was stressed, even if I hated the little whining bitch he was obsessed over.

"She'll find out eventually." I said. "Even if your plan works, she'll figure it out. How could she not?"

"By then it won't matter." He said, dark eyes scanning over his ward again and again as if something might change in her. "She'll know that we're together forever, she'll understand that I had to do it."

At this I sighed, reaching out to straighten the collar of his shirt, letting my fingers linger at the back of his neck to toy with the golden hair there. "I don't mean the body, Tate. I'm talking about what you did to _Mommy_. Do you really think she'll still love you when she finds out about _that_?"

He startled me when he spun to face me, swatting away my hand and taking a firm hold of my throat. I sucked in a breath of air I didn't need, more force of habit really, and gazed up at him. Up into those eyes, so brown they were black. I loved his eyes. I could stare at them for the rest of eternity. If I had _my_ way, I would do just that.

"Don't you dare tell Violet." He said, pinning me up against the half wall that lined this little pit. I smiled my best and brightest, reaching up to brush the hair that had fallen into his eyes out of the way. He slapped away my fingers, but I didn't mind. We'd done this dance a thousand times, and I wasn't ready to give up yet.

"So you agree? You know she'll hate you?"

His grip tightened, not that he could actually kill me. I was already dead, but I could feel the discomfort of what it _would_ have been like if I was still breathing.

"Don't. Tell. Vio-"

"I get it already." I snapped, shoving him back and brushing my fingers over my throat and the permanent bruises there. Usually I wore multiple necklaces to cover them up, but today had been a bit rushed and I hadn't been able to root through Princess Violet's things. Tate knew that I hated hands around my neck, it's why he did it.

"She can't find out." He repeated this for the hundredth time. We'd all heard it. His newest mantra. "You can't tell her, Cyn. You _can't_."

"I get it Romeo." I snapped, crossing my arms over myself and drawing my knees in close. Tate turned back to his lady love's corpse, chewing on his thumb a moment. We both know I wouldn't say anything. I might make threats, I might get angry, but I would never intentionally hurt him. Even if doing so would get Violet out of my way, I couldn't bring myself to hurt him.

I could _never_ hurt Tate Langdon.

**New Years Eve, 1999**

"We could hold the party at _The House_." The way he emphasized it, we all knew which house he referred to. "Make this millennium one to remember."

I scoffed at this, turning back to my book while the other girls of his little group all whined and frowned chittering out a litany of reason why it was a terrible idea. Murder House was too scary, too old. Who would want to go in there to party? Didn't he know all the terrible things that had happened there? Unfortunately, my scoff earned his attention and Brett Meyers did _not_ appreciate the input of the socially challenged.

"You say something _Cyn_thia?" He added the emphasis to the beginning of my name, teasing me about my nickname for the thousandth time. As if_ I_ had been the one to decide it. Not that it was particularly bad, just unimaginative. Actually, I had come to appreciate it over the last year as something entirely too fitting. As if the student body had unconsciously chosen it as a reflection of what I was becoming. As if they had known what I was all along. Perhaps that's why I had never made any friends here, because the others could sense that there was something off about me, the way that one would instinctually know that a predator is a threat.

"Did you hear me speak?" I asked the testosterone-laden lacrosse jock. His big blue eyes narrowed and he pushed off the desk to leave his gaggle of fans and fellow players and saunter over to me.

"Thought I did." He shrugged, leaning up against my desk and pushing my books onto the floor as he did. I ignored this, focusing instead on the hand that stopped me from reaching for them and lingered too long on my skin. "Sounded like you think you're _invited_ to the party."

I smiled, big and catty and pulled my hand from his, tucking a lock of dyed crayon red and black hair behind my ear. "Well as entertaining as it would be to watch you all cry and pee yourselves inside Murder House every time the wind shifts, I think I'll pass."

He laughed his stupid 'I'm superior to you' laugh and leaned down to get in my face. "Yeah, like you have something better to do."

"_Someone_ actually." I said standing up and gathering my books. I was the only one to catch the flash of anger in Brett's eyes at this, before he turned to his friends and got them all laughing about what a little slut I was.

The truth was, we both knew he wanted me. In the way that many jocks want the unpopular nerds and goth girls. In front of their peers they tormented us and hurt us, but alone, when there was no one to see, they came on to us and hurt us when we refused. Brett Meyer was a pathetic, impotent bastard and he could say anything he wanted about me. I'd long since become numb to the barbs of high school mockery. I left them to talk about whose house they were really throwing the New Year's party at and glanced back once to see Brett's eyes on me, narrowed and angry.

Secretly, I hoped like hell that they didn't show up at Murder House, not that I thought any of them really had the nerve for it. The old building had become a getaway of sorts. Sure I'd heard the rumors, and I'd done my homework on every murder and murderer that had ever resided there, but I wasn't afraid of it. Let the spirits come. I meant neither the house, nor any of them any harm and we all knew it. As long as I was respectful, and kept to the ground floor, near the exits, there was no reason to fear the place.

At least that's what I told myself.

**xXx**

I had never believed in ghosts. Like most other people in Hollywood, I thought that the stories of spirits inside Murder House were the product of over-active imaginations and gossip warped from the truths of who had lived there and what had been done. I'd come here out of curiosity like most and had found myself feeling more at home when I'd walked inside then I had anywhere before.

Perhaps that should have been my first warning. As if the house had already decided to keep me.

I'd seen him first through one of the windows, gazing out at the street, his golden hair catching the sunlight and gleaming. I'd been coming to the house for weeks before that, sitting in the hallway and rolling the red ball that the child favored, or teasing the twins that had tried their best on many occasions to terrorize me and had yet to succeed. I like it here, and after my first initial scare, I'd realized that these beings weren't as terrifying as most thought. For the most part, I liked them.

I'd stood in the yard, frozen on my way inside by the sight of him, and could only stare. I knew him, but I couldn't place the handsome face or the dark gaze at the time. Instead I'd stared up at him and he'd turned an empty stare down on me. We'd both been frozen like that a long while, before finally, with a crooked little smirk, he'd stepped back away from the window and disappeared into the shadows. I hurried inside, calling out to him, eager to meet this new entity that I'd not known existed, but he'd seemed to have vanished.

This happened a few times during my visits. I'd turn a corner on a tour of the house to see his back disappearing around the next turn. By the time I made it, he would always be gone. Once I'd been washing the dirt from my hands in the bathroom and looked up into the mirror to find him standing behind me. When I'd spun to face him, he'd been gone. It became a game I think, for me to catch a glimpse of this elusive spirit and try my best to catch him though I never could.

Today had been the day I decided to focus all my efforts into finding him. I was determined now and even broke my own rule of staying out of the basement to search for him, though I hadn't stayed down there long. There were some things that unnerved even me. I searched for what felt like several hours, until I grew tired and sank down in one of the hallways. As normal, a shining red ball tumbled across the carpet from the shadows and I smiled grabbing it up and rolling it back.

"At least _you_ seem to like me." I said softly and was answered by the returning ball. After a bit of this, I titled my head at the shadows and smiled softly. "Are you ever going to come out? I promise I won't hurt you."

As usual there was no reply, but the ball returned and I shrugged it off. "Whenever you're ready I guess. Maybe tomorrow I can bring you some new toys, would you like that?"

Suddenly the blinding beam of a Maglight glared down the hallway illuminating the walls. My little friend had vanished and the ball was left to bounce back toward me.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I recognized the voice instantly and stood, spinning to face Brett Meyer with a scowl. "Are you really sitting here talking to yourself?"

I didn't answer him, trying instead to block the painful stream of light from my eyes, since he had yet to lower the flashlight. The jock laughed to himself and moved closer.

"You know Cyn, when I followed you over here I thought you were a bit of a freak, but now I know-"

"You followed me?" I asked, cutting him off and frowning.

Brett finally lowered the flashlight, smiling the smile that made lesser women swoon and ran his fingers back through his hair. "Well yeah, after today I thought you might finally be ready to admit the way you feel about me."

I resisted the urge to gag and crossed my arms, "So you had nothing better to do before the big party is what you're telling me?"

"Some_one_, actually." He grinned, thinking himself clever for turning my own words around on me. I didn't find him clever at all, instead I stared at him in silence hoping that I hadn't heard him correctly. Hoping that he wasn't implying that he'd stalked me from school to try and sleep with me.

When I didn't laugh or smile or acknowledge his "wit", Brett sighed, taking yet another step closer. My eyes moved passed him to the end of the hall where a blood-covered nurse moved slowly out of sight, her hollow eyes on Brett only a moment before she disappeared. The jock turned to look behind him with a scowl, moving closer to me again.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, but I shook it off.

"Nothing. I've…" I drew in a quick breath and tucked my hair behind my ear, "I've got to go." I quickly brushed passed him and back into the main hall, heading for the stairs that would take me to the front door and away from this asshole.

"What's the rush." He laughed, following close behind. "Isn't this where you do it? I mean that's what you were saying earlier."

"Do what?" I asked distracted, turning the next corner and attempting to speed up and get to the stairs before he could stop me. Brett was getting excited though, and reached out to snatch my arm and jerk me up against the wall. I tried to push him back, but he laughed and rested his forearm across my throat, pinning me in place.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I demanded, trying in vain to shove him off of me while he slipped the mag light into the loop of his belt.

"This is where you take them, isn't it? No one here to bug you, you can just lay back, let 'em slip in and you're done."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I grit out, wrapping my hands around his thick forearm and trying to wrench it off of my throat. Brett only laughed, shoving me against the wall and making me gag. He was slowly cutting off my air supply.

"Don't lie to me you fucking slut, you admitted it today in front of everybody." He titled his head and his free hand went down to my tight black jeans, skimming up between my legs. "I know how to spot a girl that loves dick. I think we both know you've wanted mine since freshman year."

A smart person might think that he was projecting his own desires on me in order to justify his feelings. This way he was just the guy who gave the unpopular Goth chick a little pity fuck. I had no intention of doing that however and with a cry I reached up and stuck my thumb in his eye.

Brett howled, falling back a step. I hadn't blinded him, but the nerves that surround the eye socket were sensitive enough that he was debilitated regardless. Not wanting to waste my chance, I ran down the hall, skidding to a half-stop at the top of the stairs. He caught up with me when I'd made it halfway down them, grabbing the back of my head by my hair and wrenching me backwards. I lost my footing and slammed down onto the steps, and while he cursed and kicked me I fought back the urge to cry.

Brett let me tumble down the last half of the stairs, following close behind and kicking me onto my stomach once we'd reached the landing. I could see the front door from here, but when I felt Brett lowering his weight on top of me, I knew I wasn't going to make it there. The jock was practically foaming at the mouth as he reached down and grabbed the sides of my pants, tugging at them until he got them down my hips. I screamed and tried to buck him off, shoving at the slick wooden floor in an attempt to free myself, but with a laugh he gathered up my arms and sat forward. I used his shifting weight against him, bucking up and throwing him off to the side, dragging myself down the rest of the stairs until I could get back to my feet. Unfortunately, my pants were still tangled around my thighs, slowing me down, and I made it to the front door just as he did. I'd managed to open it a crack, but Brett skidded up behind me, slamming it closed again and turning the lock as I sank down against the wood.

"Stop being so difficult." He grinned, turning me around and pushing me up against the door. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a zip-tie. "Give me your wrists."

"Go fuck yourself." I spat, realizing now that he'd planned this from the very beginning, the bastard. Maybe he'd been considering for years.

Brett smirked, "Not the person I had in mind." He grabbed one of my hands, fighting to gain control of the other one, but I wasn't going to go down easy. I struggled with him, until he planted a hand on my face and slammed my head back against the wooden door, making my vision spin for a few moments. By the time I could see straight again, he'd zipped my wrists tightly together and hooked his forefinger between them with a smile.

"Come on." He urged before tugging me toward the basement door at the back of the stairwell. I could hear the whispers of voices all around us, some weeping for me, some that told me to fight, others that cackled and urged _him_ on. I'm not sure he heard them, or maybe they had been the reason this was happening in the first place. Maybe they had given him the final push.

It was dark in the basement and smelled of dust and something rotten I didn't want to think about. Brett dragged me down the stairs by the zip-tie and finally my hair when I put up a fight. He didn't even take me further in, simply shoved me up against the wall and kissed me like a drunk. I growled defiantly beneath him and bit down on the tongue he tried to sneak passed my lips, earning myself a swift knock against the temple that made my head swim again. As I looked back up and geared to tell him off however, Brett reached into his front pocket and pulled out a knife.

I went still then, eyes on the blade that snapped out with little provocation. It wasn't anything special, the kind you might see clipped to the belt of a mechanic. Black steel with a silver edge where the blade was sharpened and he held it up under my chin until I was silent. Normally I loved knives. I had since I was a child. There was something beautiful and clean about them, but now with the blade pressing into my skin hard enough to nick me, I wasn't quite as thrilled.

"You're going to stop being such a bitch now." He said, using his other hand to tug my jeans, which had ridden back up a bit in the struggle, down my legs. When he got them to my knees, he paused and lifted my chin with the blade, "Kick them off."

I did as he instructed, letting him unzip my boots for me, eyes narrowed and full of hate. I don't know why I wasn't crying, I didn't even have that heavy pressure in my chest anymore. It had been replaced by a buzzing in my brain, a constant, incessant sound that coincided with the rage that was bubbling up inside me. My mind was a kaleidoscope of violent images, and urges. I wanted to take his blade and stab it right down through his smaller member. I wanted to reach down his throat and tear out his lungs. A million different things passed through me, but outside I was silent and still.

The next to go was my shirt, sliced through at the neckline and ripped away. Brett took a moment to fondle me, shoving up my bra and enjoying himself and his new little toy. My attention was on the things moving in the shadows. There was an energy here, building with Brett's excitement and my rage. I could almost taste the perverse glee in the air and the things that watched us continued to whisper. Brett had moved down to draw my nipple into his mouth and as I sucked in a breath of fury through my teeth, my gaze settled on the one person that had stepped from the shadows. I recognized him instantly, blond hair, black-brown eyes. He titled his head and watched us a moment before holding up the mag light that Brett had lost in the struggle and waving it back and forth.

"Wait!" I finally managed to say, "I'll do it, I'll do it, you just have to stop a second."

Brett pulled back a moment with a look of confusion, still holding the knife against my throat. "Do what?"

I forced my most sultry smile, "Haven't you always wanted me on my knees?"

He grinned like an idiot looking me over again while behind him the boy had crouched down and set the mag light on the floor, giving it a quick push that sent it rolling across the floor toward us. He was too distracted to notice, too distracted as I knelt down on the floor, catching the mag light just behind him. The boy stood slowly, pulling what looked like a thick metal wire from his back pocket, a garrote of sorts. As he stood he held a finger to his lips, indicating that I not give him away.

Brett got impatient with me just sitting there, grabbing my hair in his fist and jerking back my head. "Well?" he demanded with that horrible bastard smile.

I offered him another smile, glancing at the blade he still gripped tightly in his right hand. I reached up to unfasten his belt, glancing over at the boy, but he had disappeared and with him went my fragile calm. I still kept the mag light in my left fist as I unzipped him, and just as I thought I might have to do more than I had planned, something deep in the basement clattered against the floor.

Brett scowled turning to look behind him and releasing my hair. "What the fuck?" he was just turning around, when I stood and swung the mag light with all I had catching him right in the side of the head. He slumped a moment, landing against me and I felt a sharp flash of pain in my side before it flooded with warmth. I sucked down a breath against sudden nausea and hit him again, kicking him back onto the floor.

The knife was no longer in his hand I realized in horror, looking down to find the handle jutting out of my abdomen on the left side. I could only stare at it, sliding down the wall with a choked sound of greif and fear. It hurt worse to pull it out, and I had to work it back and forth to do so, but I managed to get the blade out of me and dropped it down beside me, clutching the wound. Blood poured out between my fingers, more than I had imagined there could be, it simply kept coming and the pain began to build. It throbbed outward across my torso in hot sharp waves that made me sick. It was getting harder to breath and when I coughed, blood bubbled up out of my throat with the air. I knew enough to realize this meant I was hemorrhaging and that this was not good.

Brett groaned from the floor, pushing himself up and clutching his head. "Fucking…bitch." He groaned, but I couldn't move, couldn't even cry. I was numb and cold and the world was spinning.

I can't be dying. I told myself, it was only one stab. You're tougher than that.

"I'm gunna kill you you stupid cunt." Brett said, quickly regaining his focus and sitting up to come at me. I only stared at him, and just as his fingers were about to tangle in my hair I watched as the boy from before appeared behind him with his wire and wrapped it around his throat, dragging him back across the basement floor. My vision swam after that, going dark a moment and I felt myself hit the concrete, though the pain was too dull to really matter.

When I managed to focus again, I was pushing myself up, using the wall to stand though my legs were shaking and weak. The boy was there, he offered his hand and lifted me up onto my feet, steadying me and titling his head.

"You're ok now." He said, eyes wondering down my exposed chest a moment and returning to my face with a slight frown. He reached out, hooking his finger in my bra and tugging it back down to cover my breasts.

"Where's Brett?" I asked, my voice was stronger than I had thought it would be, and the rage was back. He turned, motioning to the far corner, where the would-be murderer and rapist was lying still. "Is he dead?"

He shrugged. "Might be."

I moved passed him without another word, bending to scoop up the mag light on my way. When I reached Brett I could see his chest rising just slightly. He wasn't dead, but he wasn't in good shape either judging by the redish-purple bruise around his throat. I grabbed his leg attempting to drag him away from the wall but didn't get very far before the boy had slipped up beside me and taken his other leg. We pulled him to the center of the room and I dropped on onto my knees, straddling his waist. Without so much as a cry of pain of fury I lifted the mag light and brought it down on his head. I did it again and again watching as his skull cracked then caved and the red grey goop of brain matter and chunks of yellowed bone splattered across me and the floor. All the while the boy just stood there, he never tried to stop me and he watched in silence, his expression empty and unreadable.

I don't know how long I beat on Bret, but eventually my arms got tired and the mag light began to spark off the concrete as there was nothing substantial left to stop it. Brett was unrecognizable, a mass of blood and brains and I was panting above him, my chest heaving and still I didn't cry or scream. I didn't even look away from him until I felt the boy move to sit beside me, his arms slipping around me to retrieve the mag light. I turned around to watch him as he inspected it, then leaned forward staring at Bret's corpse as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. I had to admit the sight was something else, something I would remember for the rest of my life with a dark pleasure I had never been able to describe to anyone, but he understood. I could see it in his dark, dark eyes.

"I know you." I said slowly looking over his handsome face a moment. He smiled, not bothering to move away from me yet, not that I minded. "You're Tate Langdon. But you can't…you died."

He frowned a moment titling his head as if that were the most ridiculous thing I could have said before he nodded. "What's your name?"

"Cynthia." I murmured, then a smile spread across my lips and I reached out to brush the golden hair from his eyes. "You saved my life."

He pulled away then, standing up and taking my hand to drag me with him.

"No I didn't."

I furrowed my brow, smiling in confusion, but before I could speak, he placed a finger over my lips and took my hand. Tate took a short breath and turned to the other side of the basement, nodded toward the wall. I turned to the place he indicated, but what I saw there didn't make any sense.

It was me. I was lying there, blood pooling around the open gash in my stomach, eyes open but empty. Lifeless._ I_ was lifeless.

"I don't…what is that?"

"You're dead." He said simply watching me as I gazed at my own body.

I laughed at that, slightly hysterical and looked back at him. "I can't be dead I'm…I'm right here." My hand went to my gut and my finger slipped down passed the skin into warm muscle, but it didn't hurt.

"You'll always be here." Tate replied slowly, reaching out to touch my face. He seemed to want to comfort me, but didn't quite know how. My vision grew hazy a moment and I blinked away tears I hadn't felt building.

"No." I said, my voice breaking and I couldn't tear my eyes away from the body. _My_ body. My corpse. "No, I can't be…this isn't…why?"

"You shouldn't have pulled it out." He said simply, brushing his fingers across the knife wound in my gut, "He cut you pretty deep, though, it was pretty much over, but you pulled it out and bleed out too quickly."

"I just closed my eyes." I murmured and my knees began to wobble before they gave out and I crumpled down. Tate caught me, slowly lowering us to the floor where he could hold me against his chest and shush me softly.

"It's ok now. Everything's ok."

"I'm _dead_." I snapped before a sob bubbled out and I buried my face in his chest clutching his shirt as if it might make this all go away.

"Now no one can hurt you again." He said, brushing the damp hair from my face and smiling a tiny crooked smile. "No one will ever dare and you can whatever you want. No one can stop you."

I recalled the ghosts I had played with, the whispers I had heard. Always in this house or on the grounds, never outside of it.

"I'm trapped here aren't I?" I asked softly, smoothing down the material of his shirt and blinking away the last of my tears. I'd never been much of a crier, and when I did it never lasted long. It seemed odd, but I was odd. Now I was dead.

"You are." He nodded, starring off at nothing a moment, lost in his own thoughts.

I pulled back enough to look at him, keeping his shirt in my tight grip. "But you'll be here won't you? I won't be alone?"

Tate smiled. "You'll never be alone again."

Upstairs there was the sound of banging. Someone was calling out Brett's name from the front door and we both turned our attention to the basement ceiling.

"He must have told Michael he was coming." I said flatly.

Tate frowned, glancing at the corpse then me. "Do you think he knows what he was doing here? The rape I mean?"

I nodded, clenching my teeth and holding him tighter. "It's his best friend, they share _everything_."

When I looked back at Tate he was smiling. He rolled the mag light over to us and fingered the brainmatter still dripping from its end. "Everything huh?"

A slow smile spread across my face and I followed him to my feet. Tate glance back up at the sounds before looking me over. He shrugged off his dark grey sweater and helped me slip into it, buttoning up the front for me with a short glance up into my eyes. A shiver passed up my spine when his slender fingers brushed the flesh between my breasts on the way up and I licked my lips in anticipation. When he'd finished he laced his fingers with mine and we moved toward the stairs. I grabbed the bloody knife on the way and we quickly moved up into the main room.

"I'll show you. Life doesn't have to stop being fun when you're dead." He smiled and I joined him. "Besides. He has to pay."

I nodded my agreement, starring at the shadow of Michael through the stained glass of the front door. "What if he does this to other girls? We have to stop him."

Tate nodded in agreement and slipped his hand from mine, moving back beside the door where he would be out of sight and I moved my hand behind me to hide the blade before I opened the door.

"Cynthia?" Michael said in surprise, looking around nervously as if someone might see us. Oh yes. He knew exactly what was happening here. "Where's Brett?"

I offered him a smile that might have been a little too eager, but he was too dumb to notice, "We just finished." I said, indicating the obviously male sweater I was wearing and leaning up against the door frame. "He's downstairs now. Are you going to join us too?"

His smile became lecherous and he chuckled. "Lead the way." He said and stepped inside.

He'd made it a few steps in when Tate slammed the door behind him and I pulled out the blade.

He had to pay.

**Present Day**

Tate had left me alone after a while, eager to get back to his lady love and play at boyfriend while he still could. While she still cared about him. My eyes remained on Violet's body, rotting and stiff, just as mine had become after the three weeks it had spent in the basement. I used to sit and stare at it for hours when Tate was off with Bo or playing with Addie. I had even run into Brett a couple times before he knew to stay away from me. I couldn't kill him again, but I could cause him pain and we both knew that I enjoyed it. Michael was a sulker who remained hidden in the basement as much as he could, unable to show the rest of us what had become of the pretty face he had once cherished. What Tate and I had done to him as he kicked and screamed and begged.

He had promised he'd never leave me alone, but then Violet had come. Violet had ruined everything and now she would never leave. Now I was trapped with her for all of eternity, doomed to watch her with the man I could never really have.

"You can't beat yourself up about it." Hayden appeared at the mouth of the pit, crossing her legs at the knee and titling her head to regard the insect-covered carcass. "The kid has shitty taste in girls."

I didn't respond, instead reaching out to swat away a fly that had slipped out of Violets ear. Hayden sighed heavily and hopped down into the pit to stand beside me, nudging the corpse with her toe. Had Tate been here now, I'm sure he would have gone into a rage, but in my current depression I couldn't bring myself to yell at her in his behalf.

"I mean really, he wouldn't even fool around with me, and _I _could have rocked his world."

I rolled my eyes at this. "That's because he doesn't go for crazy bitches. You only wanted him because he has someone else, and you have some sort of pathological need to be loved by men that are already taken. It's pathetic."

She laughed, crouching down beside me. "Crazy bitches huh? Guess that leaves you out too."

I sighed, running my fingers through my two-toned hair and starring into the face of the woman who had stolen my love away. "I can't even take satisfaction in her being dead, because now the bitch is going to be here _forever_."

"Life isn't fair." Hayden agreed, reaching out to wipe away my stray tears. The few that had slipped out in my current emotional storm. "I still don't understand why you don't just tell her everything. It would save you a lot of waiting for her to find out herself."

I shook my head, finally looking over to the other ghost. "He'd hate me forever."

She nodded in understanding. "And here, forever is a very long time."

We lapsed into silence then, both gazing down at the body. After a long moment I titled my head. "Do you think she's prettier than me?"

Hayden grinned, "Would it matter if she was? He wants her regardless."

"Because she's so fucking_ innocent_. Poor little lost Violet. Mommy and Daddy don't love her enough so here comes Prince Tate to the rescue. He thinks she'll make him clean again." I closed my eyes, "I just want him because he's as dirty as me."

"I think he's a bit out of your league, hon." When I shot her a glare, she held up her hands in defense, "as far as the dirty thing goes. I mean, he went all Columbine on the senior class; you bludgeoned a guy who wanted to rape you anyway. As far as crazy goes, I think he got the bigger helping."

"Yes Hayden, thank you for that oversimplification." I groaned and shook my head, standing up and turning away from the offensive corpse. "It's not want we've done. Everyone here has a darkness about them now. It's how we _feel_. It's the pain in his eyes and the darkness. I understand it. I feel it too, and I want to be with him because of it."

Hayden nodded, looking as if she were holding back some tacky comment. After a moment, the temptation to speak was too great and she laughed. "So what, the two of you are meant for each other because you're both psychotic? Join the club, honey. We live in a house of crazy, and you're boy-toy doesn't want to be reminded that he's broken. He doesn't want your sympathy or your pity, and he sure as hell doesn't want you reminiscing past nasties. He wants the little Harmon bitch because she makes him forget what he is. She makes him feel like a better person."

"Well he _isn't_." I grit out, fists clenched. "And the second that little whore sees the real him she'll run away." I closed my eyes, squeezing out more tears. "and it will break his heart."

Hayden grabbed me, pulling me into a rare and uncomfortable hug. "Well let him figure that out for himself. It's the only way it'll happen. Just like every man on this planet, you can tell him the truth of things until you're hoarse but he won't believe a word of it until he sees for himself, and even then he probably won't acknowledge that you were right." I sniffed back more tears and nodded into her shoulder.

"Buck up, baby goth. You've got until the end of time to prove to him that Violet's wrong for him."

"But-"

Hayden pulled back, holding me at arm's length to stare me straight in the eyes, "Never accept defeat, Cynthia. If you want him, then you _take_ him. Violet's going to find out soon and when she does _you're_ going to make your move. He'll need comforting. Men are _babies_." She smiled when the corner of my mouth twitched up a moment, "Don't worry. I'll help you. Soon I'll have my baby and you'll have your man, and everything will be right again. You'll see."

I nodded, imagining what it would be like to finally have him all to myself. To touch him and not have him recoil when I lingered too long. Hayden was right. Everything was going to be ok again soon, and until then I had to make the best of things.

I'd start with making that little bitches' life a living hell.


	2. Halloween

**Another one-shotesque update with a wit a bit of smuttiness thrown in. I couldn't help myself, I mean jeez, the boys dead but he's a nice looking fella. The sad thing is I never would have looked at him twice if it wasn't for the character, he was funny in Kick-ass but that was about it. Just goes to show that it's all about the personality of a man that draws a sicko like myself in. –sigh- what is a girl to do?**

**Feedback would be greatly appreciated. What did you like? What made you want to punch a baby?**

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><p><strong>Halloween, 2000<strong>

The breeze was coming in off the ocean, filled with the scent of sea life and salt. I had almost forgotten what it smelled like. How the sound of crashing waves sank deep into the body and whisked it up and away into the clouds. There was something soothing it the constant swell of sound, in the rolling salt air. The sand was between my toes, course and warm and damp and it was the most amazing thing I'd felt in almost a year. Since the night I'd died.

There was a family living in the house now, a husband and wife whose marriage was slowly edging into the homicidal. We all saw it. We all had chipped away at it at one point or another, awaiting the day they finally snapped and killed one another or ran. Anything for a change. No one like the new lady of the house. She was a crazy bitch with OCD so bad it had her scrubbing her hands raw nearly every night, convince that removing the filth would remove the hatred that was left of her marriage. Her husband was a cheating bastard. Hell he'd even come on to me the one time I'd shown myself to him. I didn't like him either.

Tate came running from the edge of the water, kicking sand up into the air and grinning like he'd just won a prize. He loved the ocean even more than I did and had taken me here to lift my spirits on the one night we could leave the house. I had just been thrilled to leave with him and eagerly tagged along.

My affection for him had grown at an alarming rate. I knew he had no real feelings for me of course, that was obvious. Tate didn't seem to have feelings for anyone except he siblings, and even that was thin at best. There were times that he showed me affection though. Sometimes out of curiosity or boredom. He would touch me or let me kiss him and I would melt no matter the short amount of time his attention lasted.

Tonight was one of contact. In the spirit of freedom, because we were all in such good spirits now that we were able to wonder, he had held my hand on the walk here. He'd even wrapped his arm around me and held me as if we were lovers as we watched the ocean roar together and enjoyed the warmth of the sun earlier in the park. He'd gotten me ice crème, and kissed away the stray line of vanilla that I'd "accidently" let dribble down my chin. I had never been as content as I was tonight.

Now he seemed to be feeling playful. Tate dove into the sand beside me and I giggled and shielding my face from the grains watching him roll onto his back and stretch out, touching all of it that he could.

"What if we stayed here? Could we, if we just didn't go back?" I asked after a long stretch of silence. He looked up at me from his pile and frowned slightly, shaking his head.

"We can't. The house won't let us."

I nodded, looking back out at the water. The pain I felt then must have shown on my face, because he sat up, leaning close and turning my chin to face him.

"Don't worry. We can come back next year and you have all of us until then."

"I don't have you." I murmured, turning back to the ocean and gazing out blankly. Tate was silent a long moment, watching me with an expression I couldn't translate. When it seemed that were would remain in that silence, however, he suddenly shot forward, rolling on top of me and pinning me in the sand with a wicked smile.

"Come swim with me."

I couldn't help my own grin, but quickly got it back in check, not wanting to seem too eager though I knew he could see right through me. "But I didn't bring a swimsuit."

His black-brown eyes moved down my dark blouse a moment and he fingered the first button. "Neither did I."

I didn't really know how to respond, or whether he was doing this because he _wanted_ to rather than because he knew it's what_ I_ wanted. I wanted desperately to believe the former, but I had no real delusions about it.

Tate chased away such thoughts when he kissed me. As always, it scattered my thoughts and made my cold skin feel as if it were warm again. As if I were alive. My hands moved out to touch him. Anywhere I could. One rested against his chest, knotting in the soft cotton of his shirt, the other sank into the soft blond hair at the back of his neck. I loved the contrast of the warm gold and his black eyes. I shivered in excitement when I felt his tongue brush mine and responded in kind, kissing him deeper and making a soft sound of pleasure into his mouth.

His long fingers had moved to the buttons of my blouse, popping them open one by one. When he'd finished, he sat me up, eyes moving down to my exposed flesh and slipped the thing from my shoulders, tossing it aside. I shivered at the feeling of his fingers against my bare skin and leaned forward to kiss the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, moving to his throat and nibbling at the skin there as I worked his shirt up and finally over his head.

I sat up on my knees then and he titled his head to watch me unfasten my black jean skirt, tugging it teasingly down my hips. After a moment or two of this his grin slipped away and became something intense and a little unnerving, but when he pinned me back against the sand and tossed away the skirt I knew it was nothing to fear.

He was kissing me again, nipping at my lip and forcing my head to the side by my hair to bite at my throat the way he knew drove me crazy, slipping his hand beneath the black lace of my bra. My hands were on him again. I dragged my nails down his back, eliciting a soft growl of pleasure from the back of his throat before I slid them around to hook the waist of his jeans. I tugged at the denim a moment before the button came free and was moving to the zipper when he suddenly grabbed my wrists and pinned them together above my head. He held them in place with one and, using the other to trace the line of my breast and down my abdomen, slipping it between my legs long enough to make me shudder and arch up against him. Tate chuckled at my reaction and pulled his hand away, pushing himself up onto his feet and leaving me panting in the sand, irritated by his absence.

"I said swim, Cyn, not fool around. Don't get ahead of yourself."

I pushed myself up onto my elbows and scowled at him. "You're teasing me."

He grinned again, the wicked grin that made my heart flutter in my chest, or at least the imitation of it. Reaching down, he took my hand and pulled me onto my feet, pulling me up against him and resting his hand at the small of my back.

"Of course I am." He replied matter-o-factly, then nodded toward the ocean, still crashing out beyond us, unzipping his jeans and kicking them off. "Let's go." He smiled and raced off toward the water, pulling me along after him.

We swam for hours, rapturous at the feeling of cold water against our skin. Occasionally he would swim in close and tease me with a kiss or a fleeting touch, always moving just out of reach once he'd gotten me excited again. I think he was exploring his control over me, enjoying the way he could toy with my body and the look of irritation and need I would give him after.

He did this until I couldn't take it anymore and got out of the water, panting and staring out into the black waters after him. I heard his laugh at my expense and turned my back on him. I had just made it back to the blanket we'd set out and began to gather up my sandy clothes, when Tate appeared behind me with a wild grin. His hands slipped around my waist and he pulled me flush against him, his teeth finding the back of my neck through my hair. I couldn't help my giggle, but then I told myself he was just toying with me and I pulled away, turning to face him and searching his expression for something, anything that said he truly wanted to be with me, that I wasn't just temporary amusement.

He moved toward me again, backing me up until I trip on something in the sand and toppled down onto the blanket. His black eyes followed this, a tiny quirked smile turning up the corner of his mouth. He followed me down then, dropping to his knees and planting a hand on either side of my waist. I didn't know what to say, or how to react to this, so I simply allowed him free reign over my body and watched in silent curiosity and hope. I was afraid that touching him would make me seem to eager and he was slip away again with that damn wicked smile, knowing that he still had me wrapped around his finger.

I sucked in a soft gasp of surprise and excitement when his fingers looped in my black panties and dragged them down my legs, tossing them away from us into the sand. He took hold of the backs of my knees, taking a moment to tilt his head and inspect me before with a sudden tug, planted my leg on either side of his waist. I couldn't help my tiny smile then, and the soft sound I made of pleasure, though I did my best to remain quiet.

Tate glanced back at the ocean a moment, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of waves, of my soft fast breathing and smiled down at me. He worked my bra away quickly enough and tossed it aside with everything else, his fingers slipping in my hair and tightening into a fist. He forced my head back, starring down at me in his cold detached way and leaned down to kiss my throat, then my shoulder. He moved down to my breast, tracing my nipple with his tongue and looking up at me as he did so, gauging my reaction. I whimpered, not in pain, or discomfort, but need, a pressing, deep-seeded _need_ to have him all to myself.

"Do you want me?" he asked once he'd moved to look down at me again, pressing himself against me. We both knew the answer, but he wanted me to say it and I obeyed without hesitation.

"Always."

Tate chuckled, gathering my wrists together and pinning them up above my head in the sand. He seemed to like this, tormenting me by taking away my ability to freely touch him, to urge him on. Now everything moved at his pace, and if he stopped, I could do nothing about it. Thankfully he was kind enough to not tease me long and with a strange smile I couldn't quite decipher, he pushed into me.

I let out a soft cry of pleasure and pain, closing my fists together where he held them. His hand slipped down to close around my throat, though this time I had no complaints. He bent forward, never stopping his thrusts and kissed my temple.

"Hush." He murmured, his voice the perfect blend of detached chill and amusement. I shuddered at the sound of it, how he could be callous and sensual all at once and bit down on my lip, nodding my understanding and submittal. I heard his soft chuckle and felt it stir my hair.

"Good girl."

**Present Day, 1 Day before Halloween**

"What are you doing in here?"

I glanced up into the mirror to find Tate standing in Violet's doorway, eyes on me and narrowed angrily. I didn't bother acting surprised or scandaled at the fact that I was half naked. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen it all before. Instead I grabbed the dress I'd found in Violet's closet and pulled it down over my head.

"I'm getting my costume ready for my night out."

By the time I'd gotten it to my shoulders Tate was right behind me. He grabbed my arms as I'd pulled the dress into place and spun me around, shaking me once.

"What are you doing in Violet's room. You should never be in her room."

"Like you aren't in here every night?" I shot back, starring up at him, he was maybe a few inches taller than me, though I'd never really been cowed by him. Not many time at least. "Like you don't sit at her bed and touch her while she's sleeping." I smiled to myself, "what would she think of that I wonder?"

"Don't threaten me." He snapped, shoving me to the side. I landed across the bed and pushed myself up on my elbows.

"Then don't be an asshole. This was _my_ house before it was hers."

"Well now you're dead." He replied shortly, "And she isn't. You're going to stay out of here."

At this I narrowed my eyes, fists clenched in the sheets beside me. "She _could_ be." I grit back at him, feeling the all too familiar rage building up inside of me. Tate seemed to be just as angered by my statement, and rushed forward, grabbing me by the throat and dragging me closer so that he could get into my face.

"Don't you dare threaten Violet! You can't die again Cynthia, but I can _hurt_ you. I _will_ hurt you."

I shook my head, trying to tug his fingers off of my throat with no luck. I hadn't meant to piss him off, he just made me so angry all the time. He made me into one of the jealous bitches I had always hated back in school, irrational and catty, willing to say anything to hurt him.

"Wait." I said, closing my eyes and grabbing his shirt. I pulled him down over me and wrapped my arms around the back of hi neck to keep him there, kissing his cheek. "You know I would really do it. You know I couldn't hurt you. Please, I'm sorry, I'm just so lonely. You _make_ me lonely."

His expression didn't change, angry and cold, but he didn't pull away from me. His hand slid away from my throat to brace himself up on and elbow starring down at me.

"We can leave tomorrow." I smiled, searching his face and reaching up to touch his cheek. "Are you going to take me somewhere special?"

He caught my hand and pulled it away from his face, pushing up off the bed and leaving me there. "I have a date with Violet. I'm taking her out."

"Oh?" I said, unable to mask the hurt and rage in my voice, though he didn't seem to care. "Where to?"

"The beach." He shrugged. "You can spend one Halloween alone can't you?"

With that he was gone, and I was left starring up at the ceiling, halfway between tears and shrieks of animalist fury.

"Wow. That's gotta sting." I heard Brett before I noticed he'd come in, and watched him from the corner of my eyes as he sat down on the bed beside me. His head was still a mashing of red and black gore, though he'd managed to make himself a little more whole. I could see his face nowadays, and when he spoke he no longer vomited up bits of bone and congealed blood.

"Looks like he found himself a better toy." He smiled his charming best, though it only made me want to rip his eyes out, "You think he's gunna fuck her there? He fucked you didn't he?" he laughed to himself, "_Over_ at least."

I snatched up the pair of scissors on Violet's nightstand and with a cry stabbed them down on him, but Brett was already gone. All that remained were the echoes of his laughter.


	3. Rosaline

**And Now…a beat of drama**

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><p>Romeo and Juliet is not a story about love.<p>

I know, I know, it's "so romantic" they died for one another, but let's be honest all of their problems could have been cleared up with a simple word.

_Elope. _

But that's not really the point. The point is Romeo wasn't in love with Juliet. He was in _lust_. Read the play people. In the first act he whines and cries over his love for Rosaline, Tybolt's cousin. He mourns that she will never be with him and that his heart will never be whole again. He says that there is not a single person in this world that he could ever love again, and then he goes to a party in hopes of catching a glimpse of her and suddenly it's "Rosaline? Fuck that bitch, I will never love anyone the way I love Juliet."

People seem to miss that part. It's easier to see his sudden complete and obsessive devotion as love because that's _romantic. _Fuck romance. Fuck love. I'm dead and the only person I could ever have is in love with someone else. Someone who doesn't even understand him.

I'm Rosaline and my Romeo just stuck his hand down Juliet's pants.

**Present Day**

I was lonely.

This was nothing new nowadays. In fact I had come to expect it. My unlife had been bearable for one reason and one reason only, but he was with _her_ again. Playing cards and necking and whatever else it was he did with Violet to distract her from the fact that she hadn't left the house in over a week. The sad truth was I didn't have anything else to fall back on. Now I was just like all the others here, solemn and full of a rage that built with each passing second. A blinding, aching, boiling rage that honestly scared the shit out of me.

I needed a distraction.

It came in the form of a rugged man in his late 20's. He was walking down the sidewalk, iPod blasting some old punk band I hadn't heard in years with his hands in the pockets of a black pea coat. I had a weakness for the sleek, simplistic pea coat. It lengthened and slimmed the torso and those big buttons made easy prey for nimble fingers with wicked intentions.

I had donned my old clothes today sans rips, a trick I'd learned after noticing Tate and his vast wardrobe. My first couple of years had been frustrating when I could only wear the things I found or what I'd died in, but now I realized how powerful the mind could be. If I believed my own wardrobe was in reach then it _was_, I could dress in whatever way I pleased as long as I focused hard enough.

My black jeans were tight, casing my slender legs and I crossed them at the knee when the man walked by, letting my dark cropped shirt hang down off one shoulder. He noticed, of course, noting my smile as I drew a cigarette out of the pack I'd stolen from Violet and tilting down his glasses to get a better look.

"Got a light?" I asked when he didn't speak. The guy smiled, glancing down the street once before stepping onto the property. I felt it as he stepped onto the lawn, as all of the others must have, like a ripple of warmth and life. Behind me the house opened it great jaws and drew in the scent of him as if readying for its next meal and I was happy to oblige.

"You look a little young to be smoking." He said, offering up his lighter anyway with a dazzling smile. I shrugged, drawing in a breath of the smoke that could never give me cancer and grinned back, wrinkling up my nose.

"I'm perfectly legal." I replied, "I can do whatever I want." _Whomever_ I want. I didn't say it aloud, but I didn't have to, he filled in the blanks on his own and chuckled softly at my flirtation. Some things were spoken through the eyes, and mine were telling him to follow me inside and ravage me like I'm sure he wanted to.

"What's your name?" he asked, leaning up against the stone wall beside me, his gaze slipping down my legs and returning up slowly.

"Cynthia." I smiled, drawing in another breath of smoke and releasing it as I spoke. "And you?"

"Marcus." He replied, though the hesitation said he was lying to me. It didn't matter though. I could give a shit what his real name was. When I didn't do more than watch him, he smiled again, leaning in closer and brushing his fingers across my thigh. "You have grey eyes." He murmured, "they're rare you know, and beautiful."

I batted my lashes, resisting the urge to vomit all over him and giggled softly. "They change color you know." As I said this, I slid off the banister and up against him, fingering the button of his coat. "When I'm happy or angry."

"What color are they when you're horny?" he asked, thinking himself clever. I only grinned.

"You tell me."

_Step into my parlor, said the Spider to the Fly_

Our conversation hadn't lasted long before the wannabe actor had followed me inside and down the hall. The Harmon's were away today, and Violet was busy upstairs with Tate, whom I did my best not to think about. We hadn't even made it to the basement door when I grabbed his coat and pulled it from his shoulders, tossing it aside and shoving him back against the wall. I grabbed my cropped shirt and pulled it over my head, leaving the grey tank in place.

"Won't someone see us?" he laughed, not really concerned, but I wasn't bothering to comfort him.

"What if they do?" I grabbed his shirt, tugging it up his chest and kissing the sculpted muscle there, nipping the flesh when he hissed in a breath. He helped me remove his shirt and scooped me up by my thighs, turning us around and pressing me back against the wall.

"You do this often?" he asked as my hand went down between us to the growing bulge in his jeans.

"My boyfriend broke up with me." I answered, "He found another girl and left me all alone."

"His loss." He grinned, moving to kiss me, but I stopped him, staring intently into his eyes.

"It _is_, isn't it?"

He seemed confused by my intensity a moment, but was quickly distracted by the blade I slipped between his ribs. I muffled his scream with a kiss, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling my blade, Brett's blade, out to force it back inside again and then again. He stumbled back, dropping my legs, though I clung to him and followed him to the hardwood floor, laughing at the way his head bounced off the shining cedar, his eyes going unfocused a moment. He tired to shove me away, to fight me off and scream, but it was too late. I was already stabbing him again, forcing the blade up along the line of his perfect abdomen, then into his throat and covering his mouth with my own. He bit me once, splitting my lip severely, but I couldn't be distracted now, and the coppery taste of our mingled blood only drove me on.

That is until the hand knotted in the back of my shirt and wrenched me up and away, tossing me back against the wall. I wasn't startled, I knew it was him before he grabbed my shoulders and slammed me into the wall for good measure. I was laughing now, harsh and manic and Tate stared at me as if_ I_ were the psychopath.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he hissed, wrestling my knife from my bloody hand and pointing to the actor with it. "What is this?"

"You get to have _your_ fun." I shrugged, "why can't _I_ let loose every once and a while?"

"Damnit!" he cried, stabbing the knife into the wall beside my head. I laughed again, and nodding toward the black pea coat I had removed to avoid stains.

"I thought it would look good on you." I smiled and reached up to touch his face, smearing blood across his cheek and loving the bubbling anger that built in his black eyes because of it.

"So you killed him?"

Marcus let out a wheezing cough, splattering blood onto the hardwood and twitching. He seemed to be trying to scream, but the gaping hole in his esophagus wouldn't permit that anymore.

"Guess not."

Tate growled and shoved off the wall, moving to the actor and grabbing his arm. "We have to get him off the property." He snapped and I watched him drag the body toward the back door, leaving a slimy trail of blood in his wake. "_Moira_!"

The maid appeared as if out of nowhere, her pale eye seeming to lock on me and my bloody skin, then the chaos we were leaving behind. Bodies and blood were sort of our trademark though, and she hated this. Hated us, though she tolerated Tate for his passing bouts of compassion for the ladies of the house. His need to help them.

"Damn little psychos." She grit out. "Clean up your own mess."

"They'll be home soon." Tate said, dropping the body to open the door and kicking Marcus out into the grass.

"That's your job." I smiled, crossing my arms and leaning back against the wall. "Besides, you wouldn't want to have to explain all this blood to the _madam_ would you?"

She muttered something hateful at my expense and disappeared again to fetch her cleaning supplies. This wouldn't be the first time she's cleaned away a crime scene, and it wouldn't be the last. Tate was now in the yard shielded from view by trees and hanging laundry, he struggled to drag the quickly fading Marcus across the lawn to the fence line and after an irritated groan I pushed off the wall to follow him. Moira had returned with a bucket and sponge and I glance back at her on my way out the door.

"Call the cripple. He can get rid of the body."

I hurried up behind Tate, grabbing Marcus's other arm and helping his pull until we reached our limit and Tate shoved him over the property threshold with his boot. I stood there in silence, then, watching Marcus twitch and gasp like a beached fish before finally with a wet gurgle and a rasp, he passed, his bright green eyes going dead and dull.

I cried out when Tate slapped me. I hadn't expected it, and honestly I was hurt more by the fact that he'd done it than the blow itself. "Damnit Cyn!" he growled and grabbed me by my arm, dragging me back to the house, while I clutched my cheek and sulked like a punished child. He took us directly to the basement and threw me against the wall with a curse.

"What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?" he demanded, furious and shaking. I didn't see him this angry often, and knew it meant trouble. His losing control was never a good thing. "What are you trying to do? If anyone had seen him, there would have been cops and questions!"

"What the fuck do I care about the police?" I retorted, then gasped and drew back against the wall when he rushed forward, hands slamming down on either side of my head.

"You aren't the only person in this house _Cynthia_. One of the Harmon's could be taken away for murder! They would try to take Violet _away _from me! I can't let that happen."

"Violet's_** dead**_." I yelled back, shoving at his chest, though he didn't budge. Instead Tate slapped a hand down over my mouth and looked up to the ceiling as if she might have heard us.

"_Shut up._" He hissed, "Just shut the fuck up. What were you thinking, whoring yourself around? You're beginning to take far too much after Hayden. Is that what you are now? A goddamn _whore_?"

Tears of rage pricked at my eyes and I beat at his chest with my fists, forcing him back and moving out of his reach. "Is this the part where I take moral advice from the mass-murdering _mother fucker_?" I laughed at this, hysterical again, "You _are_ you know, a **mother** fucker. _Bona fied_ and everything. Have you told your girlfriend yet?"

"Is _that_ what this is about?" he asked, laughing at my expense and shaking his head, "Is this some sort of jealous rage thing, because really, as far as ploys for attention go, this is just_ pathetic_."

I lost it then. Wrapped my arms around myself and sank to my knees, letting out a sob that reached all the way down into what was left of my soul. I was crying more often these days, wracked with horror and sorrow so deep I thought I'd drown in it. Sometimes I almost wished I could, at least then I might escape what my existence had become. I might escape the agony of seeing him and not being able to touch him.

Tate watched this in silence, his expression empty and cold; something I had grown used to but now seemed utterly heartless. I couldn't help my tears, the bawling that shook my entire body.

"I'm so _lonely_ Tate. God I'm _so_ lonely now. You left me alone with these things and you _promised_," I beat my bloody fist against the floor, bending over my knees to plant my forehead against the cool concrete. "You_ promised_ I would never be alone." I sobbed into the floor, not caring that I must have looked pathetic, not caring about anything anymore but the frigid empty pit in my chest. I felt hollow and flimsy, as if I might collapse into myself at any moment.

"**Liar**." I choked out through my tears, my voice had become broken and soft, "_fucking liar_."

I don't know how long I sat there, curled around myself like a weeping fetus, but eventually I felt him sit down behind me. He pulled me back between his legs and tucked me gently against his chest, stroking my hair and holding me close, letting me get it out.

"Shhh, "he murmured against my hair, kissing my temple, "I'm sorry, Cyn. Please stop crying."

If anything could be said about Tate Langdon, it was that he had a weakness for the women of this house. He might revel in violence, but he never enjoyed the pain of a broken woman. He did his best to help us all, in the ways that he could.

"I _hate_ you." I sobbed into his shirt, clutching him tightly as if I might drift away without the contact. "God I hate you. Why did you let me die here? Why couldn't you have saved me from this hell? You were right there! It isn't fair Tate! You let him trap me and then you left me all alone. I can't _be_ alone."

My rant became senseless weeping after that, and he rocked me until I was calm enough to breathe slowly again, whispering that he was sorry and that he never meant it. That _no one_ deserved to be trapped here.

"Why do you do this to me?" I asked softly, I'd shifted to lay my head in his lap, playing wit the fingers of his left hand while he continued to stroke my hair for comfort. I loved his fingers, long and slender like and artist, and that silver thumb ring he wore, it made me shiver. I pulled his hand to my face, pretending that he was caressing it the way he had in the past, before Violet.

"I can't help myself." He replied, just as soft, just as tired. "Sometimes I can't control anything."

"You don't even try." I replied, going back to inspecting his hand, and lacing out fingers together. "I never used to be like this. Emotional, I mean. I was always to controlled and now I find myself bawling every time you hurt me. What did you do to me?"

Tate sighed, reaching down to turn my head so that he look down at me, "I'm _sorry_ Cyn. I don't want to be this person. I don't want to hurt you."

I was quiet a long moment, searching his eyes and feeling the pricks of yet more tears, "But you _do_."

He sighed heavily, resigned to the truth now, and bent over me, kissing my forehead. "I know." He murmured, and his expression was one of regret.

I didn't let him pull away; instead I slipped my fingers into his hair and pulled him into a real kiss. It was solemn, and harsh, a kiss of sadness and anger and fear, but he let me. He kissed me back, and that was all I could ask for now.

Then there was a thump in the kitchen and his head shot up, eyes scanning the ceiling as if he could see through it. "Violet." He whispered, and pulled away from me to stand. I didn't even bother to stop him, I didn't have the strength. He'd just patched up my heart to smash it all over again. I watched him dash for the stairs, leaving me with tiny, soft whimpers and cold tears. I hurt, everything inside me hurt, and the rage was back in surround sound. It filled me up until I let out a cry of fury and hit the ground.

At the top of the stairs, Tate had just stopped Violet from coming down. "There's blood, Tate." She was saying, panic in her tiny voice, "It's all over the floor, and Moira…we have to call the police. We have to do something-" Her words were cut off with what I could only assume was a kiss, and he laughed as if she were being ridiculous.

"Calm down. It was an animal. A dirty possum crawled in and I killed it. You know those things carry diseases?"

"No, there's way too much blood for that."

"It was a big one, Violet." He laughed again, "Besides, don't you think Moira would have called the police if it was anything else?"

She paused, not convinced, but wanting to believe him. "I guess so…"

"Come on." She and their voices began to fade as he steered her away from me and my rage. "I want to show you something."

I hit the ground again and blinked away tears that were now on fury rather than sorrow.

"I'd tell you to kill the little slut with this, but we both know it's too late for that now." Brett was leaning up against the wall below the stairs, legs cross at the ankles and holding up his old knife. He must have taken it when we'd gone outside.

"Fuck off." I grit out, pushing myself up onto my knees and whipping away my tears. Brett however was unmoved. He made his way across the room and knelt down in front of me, holding the knife aloft.

"You know you can't kill her Cyn, but you can sure as hell scare her. You can drive her crazy if you wanted to."

I only stared at him, "And how do you expect me to do that?"

"Well," he shrugged, and suddenly plunged the knife deep into my gut, right in the place he had killed me. "I assume a girl who doesn't know she's dead would be plenty freaked out by the fact that can't die." He jerked the blade back out, and dropped it into my lap while I clutched myself, feeling the phantom pain our bodied insisted we should feel. Real enough to hurt until you realized it hadn't actually _happened_, that it couldn't stick. "Maybe she'd think she was seeing things, maybe she'd just panic. Who knows, but what other choice do you have?"

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded, grabbing the knife and folding it away in my boot.

Brett stood, and offered a hand I refuse to take, so he grabbed me anyway and tugged me to my feet. His expression was something intense that I could decipher and he tilted his head to regard me, tucking a lock of flaming red hair back behind my ear.

"I don't like it when you cry." He said simply, then stepped away from me, backing up into the shadowed corner of the room and disappearing somewhere else in the house.

I didn't know how to take that, didn't even want to process what it might mean. I couldn't handle Brett's bullshit at the moment, and the idea that he might feel for me in any sense of the word made my stomach turn.

No, I would focus on what he'd said about Violet. Hayden had pushed for the same. Torment the bitch, drive her off the edge and laugh when she realizes she can never stop falling, never hit the bottom. What would she do I wondered, a smile spreading over my lips. How would she react to horror and fear?

"Guess we'll find out tonight." I murmured and stepped into the shadows of the room, letting them draw me in and carry me away into cold, damp comfort. The only that I really had anymore.

* * *

><p><strong>OH THE HUUUMAANITYYYYYYYYYYY! Or lack thereof. So we've had some angst, some murder and some "love you so much I hate you"ness going on. And now I can't help myself, I want to torture Violet. I'm not sure what all I'll do, but I have a good idea of where I'll start. If I were a ghost, knowing what I know of what's going on and what she's done, I would have some pretty specific thing to say to the little bitchface.<strong>

**I lost my sympathy for her character when she let her mother get dragged off to a crazy house at the behest of her psychotic, dead boyfriend…which is probably what might be said to her…don't know yet.**

**Anywho, let me know what you think. As I said in the beginning, it's not so much a flowing story as it is the beats of action and drama that they go through. Though the next chapter will be happening directly after this one. YAY DRAMA!**


	4. Tear You Apart

_**I want to hold you close**_

_**Skin pressed against me tight**_

_**Lie still, close your eyes girl**_

_**So lovely it feels so right.**_

_**I want to hold you close**_

_**Soft skin, beating heart**_

_**As I whisper in your ear**_

_**I wanna fucking tear you apart.**_

**-Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge. **

**I fucking love this song. I thought it highly appropriate for this chapter, as you'll see...well, perhaps without the heartbeat... Let me know what you think.**

* * *

><p>It was almost 3 in the morning now. The house was filled with the tiny noises of the others, laughter from the twins, Nora's incessant weeping, and the doctor in the deepest parts of the basement sawing at something for his latest project. Sometimes I would bring him animals, birds and cats that had died within reach of the yard, or that I had killed especially for him. I liked to watch him work, the things he created were deliciously monstrous and I found myself finding the most abstract creatures I could, just to see what he might do with them. He'd made me one once, when I'd complimented his work; a combination of a small dog I'd bludgeoned on a bad day and a bat that I had managed to catch with Tate's help. I kept it in the attic now, as a trophy and a toy for Beau when he grew restless and tired of his ball. He liked to nibble on the thin veiny wings. 3 am was an hour of restlessness for us souls trapped in the house, not that we weren't generally active. The more religious of us claimed it to be the devil's hour, but I didn't believe in such bullshit, never had.<p>

I'd spent the day thinking about what I had to do. Brett had been right, scaring Violet was my only option since the other had been taken away when Miss Melodrama offed herself. This was another problem that I had with Violet. Not her death, I'd already known she was _weak_, but the way it had happened. Sure finding out that the guy you'd been lusting after all this time was dead could be a bit of a trip, but when he'd written his love confession on her chalkboard and she'd been so horrified that she swallowed a bottle of pills…yeah. That had made me a little angry.

When I entered the back room of the basement, the doctor was busy with his latest creation. He'd forgone the usual stitching tonight and instead used a soldering iron I had brought him a week ago from the Harmon's tool shed.

"No stitches?" I smiled, walking toward the creature and running my fingers down the shining surgical steel of his table. Charles looked up and smiled a friendly greeting at me before going back to his work, explaining as he went.

"I've decided to try something new today. This device is quite extraordinary."

I grinned, taking a seat at the stool across the table from him and watching as he drew the tip of the searing metal across a bit of skin. It took me a moment to realize he was giving the creature a third eye. He'd removed a section of skull from the center of the dog's head and was currently melting the flesh around the edges to connect a socket and patch of flesh to the rest of the face.

"This is only an experiment, mind you, I have not tried it before. I theorize that it will hold if the flesh can be melted together, and from there I will insert one of the glass eyes in that jar." He motioned to it and I nodded, looking in at his collection of glass eyeballs in all their different colors and sizes. They seemed to have been mixed with a few actual eyes, but those were easy to tell apart from the others as most had long ago rotted or been eaten away by insects, leaving only traces of the thin flesh and goo around the glass.

After a moment of my watching him work, Charles glanced back up at me with a small grin. "I assume there is reason for this visit, not that I am ungrateful for the company. Is there something you needed from me, my dear?" His smile widened, "Do you have another project in mind that you wish to begin?"

I arched a playful eyebrow and nodded, "I have a few in mind," then I was serious again, fingering the tray of his tools, "Could I borrow one of these? I need something sharp, but frightening. I love a good scalpel," I picked up the newest of them, sliding my thumb across the edge and watching the skin split beneath it with no pressure at all. I didn't even feel it, the blade was so sharp. "However, I'm thinking scary. Something that catches the eye."

Charles watched this silently, watching me set down the surgical tool and giving me a knowing look. "Oh my, have you already grown tired of our new houseguests? Surely they can't be all that bad?"

I laughed, "I guess you haven't been keeping up."

He chuckled softly, looking back down at his dog creature with a fascination he never found in anything else. The good doctor loved his work above all else. "I find my studies down here more important."

I folded my arms on the table and rested my chin on top of them with a grin. "You'd be right. It's just the one of them that's caught my eye. She's making my stay here…difficult."

"Ah. We can't have that." Charles stood, turning to his shelves and moving to an old shop box with a rusted lock. He popped it open, moving the broken lock aside and rummaged through it a moment before pulling out a long blade. I sat up straight and clapped my hands like a giddy child as he brought it over and handed it to me. It was an old bone saw from a century before my time, the serrated blade rusted and jagged. I gripped the worn wooden handle, feeling it out. It was definitely frightening, like something from a horror movie.

"Perfection." I laughed, "As always Doctor."

He nodded his thanks and sat back down. "Just something of a collectable I got years ago." By this he must have meant before moving into the house. "I'm not sure how sturdy the blade is anymore. It might not hold up for anything…strenuous."

"That won't be a problem. She's already dead."

"Ah, well," he grabbed his tools, going back to work, "Have fun my dear."

"I always do." I grinned and left the room feeling the buzz of excitement that only came with enacting atrocities.

**xXx**

I'd waited until Tate had left. He would only make things difficult. Doctor Harmon was sleeping soundly thanks to a bit of crushed medication in his evening drink. Ben really should have learned to hide his stash better; _anyone_ could get a hold of it. When I was sure Violet was tucked away safe in bed like a good little girl, I slipped into the room. She didn't hear the door open, but it was too dark to see me anyway, and I could be quiet when I needed to. I listened to her shift on the bed, slipping up beside it, and planting a knee on the mattress so I could lean in close. Violet went still, this close, I watched her turn to look for me, but I wouldn't be visible, not if I didn't to, it was a nifty little present from the house. The ability to jump from place to place in the blink of an eye was one of my particular favorites.

"Tate?" she asked softly, sitting up slowly and looking around. Her eyes were wide in the beginnings of fear and I couldn't help my smile. "Tate, quit you're bullshit. This isn't funny."

"He's sleeping." I replied watching her head snap to me and her startled jerk at the sound. She flipped on the lamp beside her bed, drawing away from me with a scowl. I had donned my corpse's appearance for the occasion. My eyes were sunken and wild, my teeth coated in blood. My ruined shirt was hanging around me in rags, the tank beneath it soaked in blood from my stab wound. It dripped from the material and onto her mattress, leaving bright red stains that bloomed across the sheets like wildflowers.

Until this point, we'd never been properly introduced. I'd been content to stay away from the brat as much as I could, so her confusion and fright were justified, though that didn't make it any less entertaining.

"Get out of here." She hissed. It was an attempt at intimidation, but the note of fear in her voice ruined the effect. I couldn't have taken her serious regardless. She closed her eyes tightly, just as Tate had taught her and tried again. "_Leave me alone_."

I laughed at this, enjoying the way she snapped those big eyes back up at me like a deer before its impact with a car. "That doesn't work on me sweetie." I pulled the long, thin saw from my belt, holding it to my side. Her eyes went right to it, growing bigger, though I hadn't thought that possible. She drew away from me on the bed and her covers were tugged up against her chest, as if they might protect her from me. Then, cowering like a toddler she attempted once more to threaten me.

"Listen you crazy bitch, I don't care who you are, this is _my_ house. Get out of my room before I-"

"Before you what?" I asked, losing my smile and staring intently at her. I've been told I have a very imposing stare. Having never experienced it firsthand, I had to take their word for it, but by the way Violet looked at me, it was the truth.

And I hadn't even_ touched_ her yet. This was great.

"Are you gunna call your boyfriend. Do you think he can save you from everything, or is it just that you know you can't protect _yourself_?"

"Fuck you!" she spat.

Narrowing my eyes, I shot forward on the bed, climbing on top of her and choking the scream from her throat before she could make it. I dug my nails into her flesh, gripping her with everything I had and when she began to struggle in panic, I settled the jagged blade of my saw right below her chin. I was in control then, and she eagerly lifted her chin when I prompted it with the blade, blinking away the moisture gathering in her eyes from fear. I mused idly if she were alive right then that she might pee herself, but such thoughts were a distraction and I leaned in close to focus on her.

"You know, they call me heartless sometimes. It's rude. They never say it about you though. Violet's so sweet. Violet's so kind. Violet's a naive idiot-child, but at least she's got a good heart." I laughed, jerking the blade so that it snagged her skin, bringing with it a thin line of red. She let out a choked sob, now that I was giving her the air she thought she still needed, and watched me like a feral beast poised to strike. She looked as if she were about to be eaten alive. I considered the idea, but decided that would take too much time and effort. I was kind of working through a window of opportunity here and didn't want to push it anymore than I had.

"But you aren't sweet _are_ you?" at this I sneered, "I've heard the way you talk to mommy and daddy, the way you complain about absolutely everything. And your mother, you own _mother_," I shook my head in disgust, pressing the saw down into the top of her throat until the line began to grow, the blood trialing down her pale neck in thin, crimson rivulets. "You turned your back on her when she needed you most. What kind of a daughter_ does_ that?"

Violet's eyes narrowed and she shoved at me in anger. She knew what I meant, knew I was right, that she was horrid and pathetic, and didn't want to hear it. I fell to the side, but managed to give her a good gash on my way down. The little bitch tumbled off the bed in a scramble and hit the floor, crab-walking away from me and grasping her throat as if she thought I'd slit it. I'm sure it didn't feel wonderful, all those jagged, rusted teeth tearing across her neck and jaw, and I had to smile again.

She didn't have time to stand before I'd leapt off the bed at her, landing across her side and fighting to hold her in place. She wasn't docile anymore, panic had made her desperate and she clawed and kicked at me, struggling to keep me from using the knife I had plunged down toward her chest. With both her hands around my wrist to fend off the saw, I was free to grab a fistful of her hair and bounce her skull off of the wood floor.

God I loved these floors.

It made a satisfying _thunk_, but this only slowed her struggling and I was forced to do it again. Violet groaned, and released one hand to take a swing at me, catching my chin with a weak punch. I was surprised enough that she managed to knock the blade from my hand and send it skidding across the floor. She twisted beneath me, turning over onto her stomach and trying to crawl away, but I launched forward again, throwing myself over her and beginning the fight once more for control.

"Is that really all it takes to make you betray your mother?" there were other presences in the room now, Hayden and Brett and the twins, though they kept themselves hidden. I could feel their excitement, and the house swelled with an electric energy that buzzed beneath my skin, pushing me on, making me positively giddy at her terror. "He flashes those pretty dark eyes and you turn on them? You sent her away, Violet, not your Dad, **you**. You let him think she was _crazy_."

"Stop!" she cried out, pushing up off the floor and we both tumbled. Hayden was laughing somewhere in the room, cackling in joy at the entertainment.

"Get her." She urged as Violent pushed herself up and dashed out of the room. I was right behind her, skidding out against the wall, and shoving myself after her with a laugh of my own, high and manic.

"Dad!" she yelled, stumbling down the hall, and tripping over herself. I was right behind her, grabbing her shoulders and throwing her with everything I had into the wall. She collided with a loud bang, her head snapping back and she stumbled, but swung her elbow back around at me right in the sternum. It made me wheeze a moment, but I was after her again, this time with a primal bellow of rage. I wanted to kill her. Even if it wouldn't stay, even if she'd wake up moments later, I _had_ to. Besides, her confusion and terror at waking up _not_ dead would be a pleasure to watch anyway. It was win-win.

"_Daddy_!" she screamed just as I felt the others falter. Hayden whispered a curse, the twins disappeared and, Brett hissed out a harsh "_**Run**_." But it was too late for that.

I felt the arms wrap around me before I knew he was there, jerking me up off my feet and away from Violet. She turned back a moment, eyes full of tears and saw him, nearly collapsing in relief.

"Tate!"

"Get out of here Violet, get away from her." He wasn't bothering to be patient with her, which meant I'd successfully pissed him off, and I watched the little bitch run for the stairs to hide away from the both of us.

"Coward!" I called after her, as Tate tried to keep me restrained. "I'll get you, you little bitch! You can't hide forever!"

Tate growled behind me, but I was already in a rage. With a screech, I planted my boots on the wall and shoved as hard as I could, sending us both tumbling backwards. I landed on top of Tate, twisting to straddle him and closed a hand around my fist. I swung it around, catching him in the jaw and snapping his head to the side, then again, the other direction. When I went to do it a third time, however, he caught my arms, twisting to the side and throwing me down against the hardwood. We rolled and he landed above me, landing a punch that was weakened by our struggling. I growled in frustration, and bucked up, but only managed to send him falling forward on top of me.

We wrestled for a moment before I'd twisted onto my stomach and cracked him in the mouth with my elbow. As Tate curse and fell back I scrambled back onto my feet and dashed toward Violet's room. My saw was in there, and damnit if there was ever a time I needed protection, this was it.

"_**Cynthia**_!" I heard him call, his voice thick with black rage.

I'd just made it into the room when he barreled into me from behind and we both crashed onto the floor. I saw the blade and reached out for it, but Tate slapped it away from me, sending it skidding toward the bed. We struggled again, kicking and clawing at one another. I was yelling, cursing and biting at him like an animal, but something had changed. The energy in the room wasn't what it had been anymore. I felt a slithering of something indescribable in my gut, it curled around me and tightened until I could hardly breathe and suddenly I found that I had been laughing, and wasn't even aware of the fact.

Tate seemed likewise changed, but the violence was still in his black eyes, a promise that should he get the chance, he would truly hurt me, but I didn't care anymore. I wasn't fighting to hurt him, I was fighting because I was _enjoying_ it.

I managed to slip from his grasp after a blow to his temple, and grabbed crawled toward the bed, grabbing the sheets and dragging myself up onto the mattress. I might have crawled across it if he hadn't caught my ankle and pulled me back. I twisted to face him, but the backs of my knees were pressed against the mattress and threw off my balance. Tate had gotten to the saw by now, and gripped it in his right hand until his knuckles turned white. He leaned into me then, making me fall back onto my butt on the mattress and I felt the prick of the tip of the rusted saw in my gut. For a moment the world went still and silent. We gazed at each other without even breathing, until let out a soft giggle and looked down at the blade.

"Whoa. Gut shot. Those are the worse." He was very still above me, already having slipped into the silent monster he became before he killed. It was something I had seen many times before. Beyond rage or frustration, he was calm, lucid and focused, and that was terrifying. His black eyes were locked on me, unblinking and the intensity in them sent a shiver racing down my spine. Suddenly I wasn't angry or hurt anymore.

I was turned on.

The way we had landed, Tate was positioned above me, standing between my legs, he'd planted one hand on the mattress beside me to support himself with the saw in the other, pressing hard into my skin. He had yet to break skin, but it either of us moved much, it would happen.

My hand went up to his shoulder to hold myself steady and I gave him a little giggle of excitement that made his eyes narrow. I tried to pull him toward me, but he resisted, remaining poised above me. The fact that he hadn't gone through with yet, however, was all the proof I needed.

"Are you going to kill me?" I smiled slowly, a wicked smile that furrowed his brow in confusion. "Do you remember the game we used to play? Chase? We would play paper rock scissors to see who got to be the prey and the other one chose a weapon."

He wasn't resisting me anymore, instead he listened intently and I managed to pull him an inch or so closer. I slid my leg up his side slowly, wrapping it around him to hold us together. My free hand went to his shirt, my fingers slipping up beneath the thin material and around his back. I feathered my fingertips up his spine and drew my nails back down. Tate hissed in a soft breath, his eyes falling closed a moment and I felt him shudder at my touch. He was angry, yes, but he was also aroused, and that I could work with.

"You were always so much better than me." I continued, "I always got so worked up, I'd chase you down, but you were so patient. You always found me, even if I ran."

"I'm faster than you are." He murmured, tilting his head to regard me with something I couldn't decipher.

"Do you remember the time when you chose the wire?" I asked softly, my lips brushed his shoulder, though the position forced the saw into my stomach. It was only a little, just breaking the skin through my shirt, but it stung like a son of a bitch all the same. I ignored this however and pushed on, kissing a slow trail up the side of his neck. "You said you were tired of knives. You wanted something that would last. You chased me into the basement and pinned me to the floor." I paused in my kissing right below his jaw and catching the skin there between my teeth. The bite wasn't hard enough to break skin, but he felt it and shuddered again. Tate liked it when I bit him, as I loved the feel of his teeth on me.

"You were going to strangle me then, you started to, and then you stopped and gave this smile." I grinned in reminiscence, "You tied my wrists together instead and pinned them above my head." He remembered too. I could see the heat building in his eyes at the thought of it, the way it was building in me.

"You held me still and told me to be quiet, and then you ripped open my shirt." My hand slipped from his shirt to curl around the bulge in his jeans and I bit my lip with a wicked smile. "You took me right there on the floor, you made it hurt and I screamed, but god was it wonderful. _We_ were wonderful."

He made a soft sound of humor into my hair and leaned forward, forcing me to lie back on the bed to avoid getting run through. The hand on his shoulder slid up the back of his neck and I ran my nails up into his hair with a giggle of my own.

"Do you wanna play?" I asked looking up at him and delighting at the tiny smirk that curled the corner of his mouth.

"I've already caught you." He said simply, his tone was a strange mix of hardness and amusement that honestly made me wet.

"What are you gunna do with me?" I grinned.

Tate didn't reply, instead he leaned down to capture my mouth in a harsh kiss, biting my lip. It was demanding and passionate and I couldn't help but to moan softly into his mouth. When he pulled back his eyes were hard again, but there was a playfulness dancing behind them that excited me.

"Take off your shirt." He said pulling the knife back enough that I could comply and I did so quickly, wriggling to get it over my head. When I'd gotten it to my arms he stopped me and twisted the loose end until he could use it to bind my wrists together. I shivered again, in excitement and a tiny delightful slice of fear took me making my eyes wide.

Tate pinned them above me, just as he had in the basement and leaned down to kiss me again, though when I tried to kiss back, he pulled away, keeping his mouth just out of my reach to tease me. I knew this game, I had to _work_ for it. He knew that I hated not getting my way, and delighted in tormenting me. When it was clear he was not going to let me kiss him again, he leaned down to my ear.

"Don't move." He said softly and I nodded watching him pull away and stand beside the bed. Tate set the saw beside me. It was a test, one of many I'm sure he would put me through. If I went for it, I would be punished and not necessarily in a way I liked. I decided to be good for now, and remained perfectly still as he moved off the bed and looked me over.

"Lose the dead thing." He said and I immediately drew in a slow inhale, willing my appearance to that of a normal living person. He nodded and braced himself on the edge of the bed with one hand, the other went to my belt. I had to bite down on my lip to keep myself in check as he unbuckled it and pulled it from my belt loops with two quick jerks. He was moving slowly on purpose, torturing me, because I had the patience of a toddler and he could outwait the sun. His forefinger hooked in the front of my jeans and slowly pushed down the zipper, but then he laughed, and his hand pulled away. I frowned and opened my mouth to complain about this, but Tate's eyes snapped up to mine and I bit it back. I knew that look, it was _dangerous_.

"Be quiet." He said. Once I'd nodded he turned his attention on my leather belt and folding it in half. He inspected it a moment before snapping it down onto the mattress beside me, chuckling at the hellacious sound it made. My eyebrows were arched up high and I was watching him very closely now. I knew what was coming, it was obvious. He'd given himself agreat idea and _I_ would pay for it.

"Roll over, Cyn." He smiled a devilish thing that made me nervous and giddy all at once, but I didn't move to do as he said, I wanted to know what might happen if I didn't. I was already in trouble, why _not_.

Tate reached out to grab my arm and flipped me onto my stomach on the bed then pulled my legs off the side so he had a good target. My arms were currently trapped under me, so I had to struggle to work them enough to push myself up, but he'd already swung. The belt cracked across my backside and I spat out a curse.

"You should listen to me." He said, and then came swing number two, just as hard, like fire across my skin. I mean_ jesus_, this boy could play for the major-league.

"_Fucker_." I snapped out unintentionally when the third came, and Tate laughed getting out two more in quick succession. I couldn't take anymore, and grabbed the sheet in front me to drag myself over the bed. I only made it a few inches when Tate wrapped the belt around my neck, and pulled me back with another laugh at my expense.

"Where are _you_ going?" he asked in my ear, leaning down against me. One hand snaked around my waist and he tugged down the rest of my zipper, "I'm not finished with you yet."

To this I couldn't help my wicked smile and let out an excited giggle when he released the belt to work my jeans down my legs. Again he was torturing me, taking his time and dragging it out for all he could but I had taken a small precaution and willed my underwear far away where it couldn't be used against me. He tossed my jeans onto the floor, though they vanished before they ever hit. They weren't real jeans, _those_ were buried with me out at the back of the property. I'd helped Tate do it.

"Patience is a virtue, you know." He smiled, turning my head by my hair to kiss me. When it was broken I scoffed.

"I'm about as far from virtuous as it gets."

"I'm starting to see that." He said turning me over and pushing me up to the center of the bed. He crawled onto the mattress with me, and shifted us both so that we weren't across it anymore. When he tugged his shirt over the back of his head I got so anxious I helped, yanking it off and throwing it away so it couldn't be reached. Tate chuckled his hands going to the backs of my knees and sliding me down against him. My hands went immediately to his jeans and I quickly unfastened the things, pushing them down around his hips and kissing him with everything I had.

Violet's bed was not quiet, made with brass bars and fixtures. It creaked with our movements. I wonder idly who might be listening, surely it could be heard throughout the silent house. Tate took my hands and lifted them above our heads to wrap them around the bars along the headboard, covering them with his own. With my legs wrapped firmly around his waist, he used the bars as leverage to thrust into me and I sucked in a startled gasp at the sudden sensation of him. Our mouths met again, our tongues fighting for dominance and he kept going picking up speed. Suddenly he wasn't so patient either.

"I love you." I said against his mouth, nipping at his lip as one of his hands moved down my arm, clasping my breast and running his thumb across my nipple.

"I know." He replied bending his head down to replace the hand with his mouth. His tongue circled the sensitive flesh there, and he forced a soft yelp from me when his teeth closed over the bud. I arched up against him dropping my freed hand to the back of his head and tangling my fingers in his golden hair. He was still pounding into me, rattling the headboard against the wall. Oh yes, the other's could hear this, and with this thought came a twisted pleasure as I wondered if Violet could as well, wherever she was hiding.

"Tate." I said, my voice hitching with his thrusts. He knew what I wanted to hear, but he was still busy teasing my nipple. I didn't stop him, couldn't really, but still I wanted him to say it. I _needed_ him to.

His mouth trailed up to my throat and he bit me again, kissing away the pain and moving forward, he kissed my jaw and my chest fluttered when I felt his lips against my ear.

"I love you Cynthia." He murmured, and I tugged back his head to look up into his dark eyes with an elated smile. When I saw it was true, that he hadn't said it placate me, I felt as if my chest had burst. Warmth and joy filled me as I hadn't felt in weeks and I pulled him down to kiss him again. It was passionate and desperate, we didn't stop until we'd both come, and even then we couldn't stop kissing one another.

"I love you." I said again, against his mouth and he smiled, pulling out of me and releasing my other hand, which was numb from his grip. Tate rolled onto his back beside me, pulling me across his chest and kissing my hair.

"Will you hold me like this tonight?" I asked softly, tracing circles on his abdomen with my fingertip.

"Not here." He replied looking around at Violet's room, the tone of his voice saying that I had just reminded him that she was here. The thought of this thrilled me to no end, but I didn't speak it, I didn't want to ruin his mood.

"But somewhere?" I urged.

After a moment, he nodded and kissed me again, pulling us from the bed. I laced my fingers in his and let him lead me from the room, feeling as if the world had _finally_ been set back to normal.

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><p><strong>Counting Bodies like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums<strong>

**By A Perfect Circle**

**If you haven't heard this song, I strongly suggest listening to it. If you don't like them, or haven't heard of it you should check out a youtube video of Tate being crazy and wonderful to the intro, which is a wonderful chaotic sound that fits his character magnificently. It was perfect and you might appreciate the song even more for having seen it. I know I did.**

**http:/www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=qYVYGCCryLo&feature=related**


	5. Comfort

**Holy bananas was tonight's episode badass. First baby Tate and then all the crazy. And finally Violet knows the score, though I wanted to smack her when she told him to go away. I get it, sure, mom raped and he's a psycho, but still. If he squeezed out any tears from those big black eyes in front of me I'd forgive him anything. And I can't stand it when guys cry! **

**And on a side note…Tate coming onto Pat to get that ring? Pretty fuckin' hot.**

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><p><strong>2000<strong>

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><p>"I'm bored as shit. Do you wanna watch a movie?" I asked, I'd already turned on the TV when Tate had come into the living room. The current owners of the house were in Virginia, gathering up the rest of their old lives to bring them here.<p>

Tate shrugged. "All they have are these CDs." He motioned to the row of movies on the shelf and I laughed.

"Those aren't CDs, baby, they're called_ DVDs_." I paused a moment, "I guess you wouldn't have seen them though. They came out the year after…anyway. Wanna watch one?"

"How?" He frowned, pulling one off the shelf and opening the case. He jerked it out of the case hard enough to snap the thing in half and I laughed.

"Well not _that_ one." I took away the pieces and glanced at the case. "Ugh, _Bambi_. Good riddance. Anyone showing that depression shit to their kids needs help anyway." I crawled over to the shelf and grinned pulling out another one.

"They have Sleepy Hollow."

He was looking through the cases again. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"The headless horseman, Ichabod Crane. It's got some wicked death scenes. Tim Burton's a beast."

He shrugged, watching me slide the disc into the player. "How do you rewind it when it's over? Is it on a loop or something?"

I shook my head. "You don't have to rewind it, that's kind of the beauty. And you can jump to your favorite parts in like a second." I wrinkled my nose with a smile. "It's kind of the shit."

"Cool." He grinned, sitting Indian style on the carpet like an eager child. "It's so small though, how does it work?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't invent the thing. But look." The menu came up and I grabbed the remote handing it over and snuggling up against him. "See where it says play movie? You have to click that one."

He began mashing buttons, fascinated, and I giggled and helped him where I could. We didn't really watch the movie for another 10 minutes. He was too busy jumping around to scenes and playing with the remote. I didn't mind though. He was exploring.

Once he'd finally settled down I pulled his arm around my shoulders and laced our fingers together. He smiled kissing me and we settled back to enjoy the film. Laughing at the gore and random blood spurting. Tate particularly like the part where the head rolled into Crane's lap. I was just happy to spend the time in his arms.

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><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

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><p>Tate was resting in one of the spare rooms when I went downstairs. We didn't really sleep anymore, we didn't need to, but sometimes we could pretend. If we closed our eyes and sat quiet and still enough, we could imagine what it was like to drift away into dreams again. Sometimes we could even convince ourselves that we had.<p>

Moira was in the kitchen when I got there, wiping down the counters. I moved to the marble island and hopped up onto it, _accidently_ dropping a glass onto the floor. The old bat spun around and shot me one of her famous glares.

"I see you and the boy have finished fornicating. You could have had the decency to do so quietly."

"Where's the fun in that?" I asked, sliding another glass along the island with my fingertip, though she caught it before it fell. "It's not like you have room to talk. Throwing yourself one every man that stumbles in this house. At least we care about one another." I smiled, kicking my feet. "Tate and I are in love."

Moira set down the glass, far away from me and laughed, her disgusting eyes going hard. "He doesn't love you, you silly _cow_. He fancies you sure, the way all men do. You _fascinate_ him." Her eyes slid over me like a piece of filth, "You're just as psychotic as he is. Don't mistake his _curiosity_ as anything more. He can't love, and neither can you. Sociopaths can't _feel_ real love. They can't feel anything."

I balled my fists at this, shocked by her viciousness and hurt by the allegations. "You're _wrong_." It was the only thing I could get out before jumping off the counter, slapping the rest of the glasses to the ground and leaving her to pick up the scattered shards. Old jaded bitch. I hated her and she was _**wrong**_, but despite myself, I felt the cold slithering of fear and doubt creeping into my gut.

"No." I told myself, chanting it all the way down into the basement. Funny that my place of comfort was the room in which I'd died. It was also the place I had met Tate, when the world had stopped closing in and I felt as if I could finally breathe again. I screamed, punching the wall. Hitting it over and over until the flesh of my knuckles was spilt flashing the off-white of bone, and blood ran down my arm in rivulets.

"Stop it!" He was suddenly there, grabbing my arm and holding me still with a frown. "Stop hurting yourself. What are you doing?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him close, kissing his neck, his jaw, then his lips. Anything to touch him, to feel that he was there and that Moira was wrong.

"You're upset." He said, pulling me back to brush the hair from my eyes. "What happened?"

"The fucking maid." I growled. "I hate her. If she wasn't dead I'd slit her fucking throat."

"Did she hurt you?" he asked, suddenly serious, and very still. I shook my head, feeling better for having seen his anger for me. How could she say we couldn't feel? How was all of this worth nothing? How could it not be real?

"Tell me you love me," I said, kissing him again, "Tell me you always will."

His brows were furrowed in confusion, but he pulled me close, tucking me against his chest and kissed my hair. "I love you Cynthia. I'll love you for the rest of time."

I smiled big and bright and so happy I could hardly stand it and walked him back against the wall, kissing him with everything I had. He kissed me back just as passionately and the world felt as if it might busrt in my exhilaration.

"Oh, Jesus, will you two get a room." Hayden scowled pausing on halfway down the stairs when she saw us. "Preferably one that's soundproofed. I'd rather not listen to that shit again if you don't mind."

"Fuck off." Tate snapped at her, then turned a smile back on me. "We were here first."

She rolled her eyes and turned around to go back upstairs and away from us while Tate spun me around and braced us up against the stone, lifting my leg up around his waist.

Time for round two.

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><p><strong>I know it's short, but i just had to get a little something up for tonight. the next will be much longer, and we;ll get into a bit of Cynthia's back-story. YAY!<strong>


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